


Delta Dawn

by skele_smol



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/F, F/M, Final War, Horror, Joan returns, Merging stories, Original Character(s), Other, Richmond - Freeform, Romance, Romance Violet/Save Louis Route (Walking Dead), Survival, The Delta, Violence Against Walkers (Walking Dead), Walkers (Walking Dead), What if the Delta was not as fucked up as it is, final stand, triggering topics, tying up loose ends from the game series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skele_smol/pseuds/skele_smol
Summary: The rescue was a failure... The kids, all taken. Faces from her past, people Clementine had thought long since dead have returned and the teenaged survivor has been forced into the tightest spot of her young life. She must lead her friends, her love and her family and fight alongside the Delta in a final battle against a scourge threatening not only their own but everyone's survival.
Relationships: Clementine/Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 70





	1. River of ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I feel like I make progress on my list of fics, a new one pops up.
> 
> (Shameless self-plug here) Some things mentioned in this fic refer to my other fic How the Flowers Wilt. Mostly to do with Violet's treatment under Delta's "care", if you are curious, head over to that fic and give some love if you'd so desire. If not, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated on this fic

Delta Dawn. 

Delta, _noun_ :

A piece of land shaped like a triangle that is formed when a river splits into smaller rivers before it flows into an ocean.

Chapter.1: River of ghosts. 

“That way! The bitch went that way!”

Lilly’s heart is pounding, ragged breaths rasping her throat raw. The chilly autumn air is unseasonably cold, making her throat feel dry, so uncomfortably dry, with every short breath she manages to swallow down. She wheezes as her burning lungs gasp for air and her legs feel numb and heavy, unsteady and painfully sore as every leaden footfall shakes through her. She throws a sharp turn and wades through ankle-deep ice water. Her clothes cling tight to her lean form, plastered to her aching muscles and saturated in sweat and rain and muddied river water kicked high as she plunges deeper into the frigid river.

The loud splashing alerts her pursuers to her plan. Their voices, sneering from the darkness, rise up loud and excited like the baying of hounds snapping at the heels of a wounded hart.

“Crafty cunt thinks she can shake us along the river!”

“She can try, ain’t gonna get her far with fucking grabbers and ankle-biters lurking in the mud and deeper parts.” The vile and cruel laughter that accompanied the voice eddied and swirled around Lilly’s ears, just as the river water did her ankles, the sinister words chilling her blood faster than the raw touch of the rushing water. “Always did want to hear that one squeal.”

“Yer a sick sonnuva bitch, y’know that?”

“Sicker fucks than me out there. But I’ll sure as shit give ‘em a run for their money.” 

The asshole almost sounded proud of his inhumanity. His dark gloating voice and horrifying unspoken threats drove Lilly’s legs to keep pumping, to keep fighting, just _please_ , keep her moving. Keep her just out of sight, just out of range. Just enough for them to decide she wasn’t worth it, to quit and leave her for dead. And then, in one agonizingly slow, terrifyingly sobering moment, everything changed. Lilly’s foot beneath the water, the one she needed to throw out and propel her further away, didn’t come up. Her ankle struck something gnarled and clawed, and whatever it was, hidden and unseen in the murk and muck, latched on tight.

Her world tilted on its axis and Lilly’s perception of time slowed, everything sensible in the world became distorted. Everything around her was a blur, a blur that swirled out of existence. The moment suspended in the air felt like a lifetime until she closed her eyes and surrendered herself into the alluring embrace of gravity and everything came smashing through her senses all at once. Panic gave her back her voice and agony her touch. The brief moment she had spent beneath the water as she had fallen had granted her back her hearing as soon as she floundered to the surface. On her tongue and flooding her mouth was the tang of copper and the putrid stench of mildew and rot filled her nose.

“She’s down! She ain’t that far upstream. We got ‘er now!”

She had to move. Now!

Plunging her hands beneath the water, Lilly dug at the fingers clutching her ankle. Her own digits already burning with the cold and fumbling clumsily under numbed, uncoordinated muscles as she fought to pry herself free. From the riverbank, a few inches above the waterline and her head, the earth heaved and writhed. Great globules of soil and silt tumbled and slid into the darkness of the water, eroding out to reveal a cavernous maw lined with boulder-like teeth, and a garbled hissing slithered from a ravenous throat, revealing to her the decaying head of a walker birthed from the mud.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ grabber got her!” Her pursuers were so close now that Lilly could actually hear their footfalls crushing through the dense brush and tangles of brambles. Hear their twisted amusement and the cruel joy they felt for her plight. “Ya might even get yer wish of hearing the bitch squeal if that undead bastard takes a chunk outta her.”

Fighting with the walker’s grip was like fighting with a hydraulic press, the withered muscles were strong as cables of iron and the bloated flesh slick like oil. Every time Lilly managed to dig her fingers between its limb and her own either her strength failed her or she simply stripped away rashers of rotting meat. She wasn’t getting free, not like this. So she made a choice. Fishing inside her jacket, she fumbled for the glock strapped to her ribs. Shaking fingers flicked open the snap fastening on the strap that held the weapon securely in place and then, acting on instinct, the woman pulled the sidearm from its holster, ejected, checked and slammed the magazine back into its housing with a grim weight settling behind her ribs.

There were three shots in the clip and one in the chamber, one shot for each of them… she needed to make them count.

Chunks of the built-up sediment and silt crumbled free and tumbled to splash noisily into the water as the nightmarish figure emerged inch by rotten inch from the terrain. Its hollowed-out eye sockets picked clean by hungry scavengers, writhed with the movement of subterranean invertebrates that had made the creature’s skull their home. Setting her jaw and steadying her aim, Lilly took one single, cleansing breath deep into her lungs before she fired. The bullet discharged from the weapon on a breath of flame and a bellow of thunder, striking the rancid creature beneath its worm riddled orbital cavity, its jaw swinging slack in a hungry howl that died with it in a bubbling gurgle. Shoving the weapon back into its holster beneath her jacket, Lilly wasted no time submerging her hands beneath the frigid waters once more, tugging and prying the slackened talons from around her ankle.

She had to move and she had to move now!

The crack of gunfire had plunged the forest into ominous silence. Awakening more of the predatory, undead creatures from out of their lairs. Lilly’s nerves jumped as a distant, bloodcurdling moan, followed by another and another and another set the fine hairs along her arms on end. Scrambling to her feet and testing her weight on her tender ankle, she watched anxiously as the forest around her slowly transformed into a lethal playground. 

What had once appeared to simply be tree branches stretched out in front of her, formed a distorted illusion of limbs that seemed to reach out and grab for her flesh. Her chill pocked skin shuddered and trembled and she could feel her brain starting to defocus in her rising panic. Her eyes, wild and darting, searched the darkness and the unknown for a way out. She should go back… up there, into the forest where there were winding paths that ran in every direction but her instincts screamed for her to stick to wading through the water despite the hidden threats of walkers concealed beneath the liquid abyss.

Her hesitation cost her dearly.

Springing from the shadows, a large, hunkered figure splashed noisily into the river as one of the two men following her landed knee-deep in the water behind her. Fear rooted Lilly to the spot as slowly, he unfurled, her terrified eyes widening as he drew himself to his full height of six tall feet of lean, corded muscle. Across his face, a line stretched, his mouth carving a humourless smirk across dangerous features.

“Hello, Lilly.”

Panic seized her as her feet slipped and slithered outwards on the wet riverbed, sending Lilly crashing to her hands and knees when she spun to scramble up the crumbling overhang on the bank. Digging her nails into the earth, grabbing roots, anything to help haul her exhausted and frozen body back toward the forest. Her lungs immediately ache with the shock of cold air inhaled too fast and her ankle screams in flames of agony all the way up to her knee with every pounding footfall. Behind her she can hear the man’s braying laughter at her heels, crushing her hopes of escape, of survival and bringing tears of fear and humiliation stinging to her eyes.

“We got ‘er now!” The bodiless voice taunted her. “Loop back in, she ain’t going nowhere!”

Her heart beats frantically in her chest. The echoed throbs reverberated painfully in her throat, pulsed behind her eyes and thumped through her skull. It was all or nothing. Her final gambit. Her last stand. If it paid off, she’d be free. If not, well… she’d heard the screams of other women, filled with fear and agony, often enough to know what the alternative would be.

So she made her choice.

Branches attacked her, ripping at her arms and raking her cheek. Leaves crunched under her boots and broken boughs and tangled roots seemed to appear from nowhere with the intent to trip her, to stop her escape. Her long legs threatened to break from beneath her with every leap and bound, exhaustion finally creeping up on her, turning the small hurdles to looming fences. From the corner of her eye, skirting the very edge of her vision, she can see something large and fast-moving coming toward her. The other man, his thick head bent down and wide body barreling through the brush and ferns, raced alongside her like a deranged quarterback. It was over, but still, Lilly kept running despite knowing that her time was up. Her palms slicken with the cold sweat of fear, even her torn up breaths carried ragged edges of her voice. Her heart had started to race and she could feel her lungs screaming, feel the will of her muscles to push far beyond what any exercise could ever demand, this was a body and mind in full survival mode, and it was nothing but exhaustion and pain.

The next thing that Lilly was aware of was the impact that finally took her down. The solid weight of the man, who had chased her with such single-minded determination, slammed into her side with the force of a derailed freight train, a pained and surprised cry escaping her throat as her own body crashed violently to the forest floor. The force of the impact sent her unrestrained glock spinning from her holster, lost beneath the carpet of mulch and leaf litter and when Lilly twisted to dive after it, the man’s mass landed heavily across her hips. His thick meaty fingers grappling her wrists down as he loomed over her, his sour breath hissing from between sneering teeth. 

“Shhhh.” His raw voice rasped brutal against Lilly’s ear. “As much as I like yer struggling, yer gonna wanna keep it down. Biters’ll be comin’ after yer noisy little escape back there.”

Lilly struggled harder against him. Her legs kicked wildly, toes scrabbling in the dirt for leverage so she could buck him off of her or so she could twist around and force a knee between herself and him and smash his ballsack back up into his throat. But her movements were too slow, too predictable and the man on top of her simply rolled his weight with her movements, riding the waves of motion as easily as a surfer cuts his board through the swell of the ocean. His powerful hands dragged her wrists down to her hips, arms pinned as he set her hands beneath his knees, his torn mouth curling as a whimper of pain bubbled from her lips, his heavy bones crushing down hard on her trapped palms. 

“Betcha got a real pretty voice when yer screamin’.” He moved his hands higher. One fist curling through the long hazel locks, wrapping and tangling the strands into knots around his fingers, the other braced to the earth, anchoring himself as the man brutally hauled Lilly’s head back. His dark eyes dancing with perverse delight at the broken shriek that escaped her throat before the forced angle cut her voice off. “Betcher a regular little songbird when ya get going, ain’tcha? Pretty Lilly.”

“Y’got her? She down?”

“Yeah, I got ‘er.” The morbid glee that tangled around such simple words made her stomach coil. And the next words had her bowels clenching tight, the coils in her guts tightening into nauseated fists. “An’ that means I get first turn on ‘er.”

 _No!_

She wanted to scream. To wail and cry and bellow. To bring down upon them both the deadly wrath of the shambling corpses lurking amongst the trees. She’d rather she be torn apart and devoured by nightmarish ghouls than be a victim of the beast that held her down now and wore a human mask. But she couldn’t. Her throat was still crushed shut under his grip and all that she could feel was fear. Fear and anger. Furious, unyielding anger at the shadows cast from birch and bough that were already rapidly dissolving into the stroking fingers of nighttime darkness, a blanket to hide the man’s monstrous actions. Furious that even the moon and stars seemed to turn away from her, from the fate that she was mere moments away from suffering. And then fearful once more when a quiet set of footfalls shushes through the mulching forest carpet, only a few metres behind the encroaching gloom.

The steps were cautious ones, precise and careful, the calculated kind of someone with combat training. Where most who crept quietly carried themselves with apprehension, these carried their owner with the quiet confidence born of training and experience. And, for a brief moment, Lilly’s heart soared with the memories of her father. He had carried himself with the same such confidence as this person did, a military man with the experience of his service under his belt and pinned to his chest. For a fleeting second, Lilly allowed herself to forget that her father was gone, skull caved in and body rotting in a cannibal’s meat locker so many states away. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe he had come to her aid, to rescue her, despite knowing he would never again step from the shadows and banish her fears with a gruff word and a brusque lesson to teach.

Her father was gone and whoever it was in the darkness, _if_ they were even truly there and not simply a spectre that Lilly’s terrified mind had conjured, wouldn’t waste a bullet on business that was not their own…

… So why did she hear two echoing cracks of thunder? Two brutal shouts of death in the darkness that silenced the forest entirely in their wake. Why could she smell the acrid stench of burned gunpowder drifting into the air? And why did she scream as the man still straddled across her hips crumpled and folded over sideways, sliding from her prone form and dripped brain and gore from the back of his cracked open skull?

Lilly was given precious little time to process what had just happened before hands seized fistfuls of her jacket at the shoulders and dragged her free of the dead man. Hauling the shaken woman to her feet as, from the shadows, the face of her rescuer emerged. A man, stocky and scarred, with deep, dark eyes and a strong jaw stood before her, his firm fingers curled around Lilly’s biceps, steadying her as another figure, this one much more harried than he, burst from the shadows that lead down toward the riverbank.

“Goddamnit, Garcia!” The second figure, a woman, hissed. Raised to her shoulder, a rifle was braced, her head tilted as she peered along the barrel and through the telescopic sight, scanning the shadows that heaved and sighed with rustling movement. “We agreed, no shots fired unless out of all other options. Did you even attempt to disarm?”

“Things escalated. I made a call.” The man, Garcia, grunted. His dark eyes dropped down to the corpse and narrowed, kicking the split open head once before hawking phlegm and spitting. “Fucker got what he deserved.”

“Maybe so, but three shots fired is gonna pull every last walker in for miles.” As if on cue, the first hollow moan rolled through leaf and limb as a walker pushed and writhed from the shadows. Its sightless eyes roving and exposed teeth bared as torn fingers clawed and swung for anything it could grasp. The woman sighed, reaching for the blade strapped to her thigh as she nimbly stepped within grabbing range of the creature, the butt of her rifle slamming down on the wretched fiend’s knee, shattering the brittle bone as the wicked blade bit deep into its skull. The reanimated corpse, now fully dead before it had even hit the ground. “We need to get ourselves gone before the herd arrives.”

Garcia, ever the eloquent man, grunted once again though this time it sounded more a guttural agreement than one of simple grousing. He eyed his companion as she effortlessly put a second corpse down and readied herself to take down the next before he returned his attention to Lilly, his dark eyes taking on a hardened edge as he watched her test her ankle. “You’re hurt.”

Lilly returned his hard stare with a glower of her own. “Yes.” She admitted, reluctantly. “I can still run though.”

“Good.” Garcia paced a few steps, kicking at the leaf litter until his toe caught on something heavy and metallic. Folding himself over and grabbing the uncovered weapon, he ejected the magazine, inspected the rounds before slamming the clip back into place. “Not got time to be dragging your sorry ass down to the boat.” He offered the glock back to her with a sly smirk and a cocked brow. “And you don’t have the rounds, or the grip on your weapon, to cover my ass if I gotta carry you.”

Lilly usually would have spat a few choice words back at the man as she took her gun from his palm, snapping back the slide and loading a bullet into the chamber, but she was intrigued by the mention of their method of transport and her curiosity proved itself to be too much to stomp down. “You have a boat?”

The military man nodded once, wordlessly.

Nervous, Lilly’s teeth bit down on the corner of her mouth, worrying at her lip. “What about a group?”

Garcia simply stared at her, dark intelligence glittering in his fathomless eyes. He was cautious and cagey, not prepared nor willing to voluntarily share more information with her than absolutely necessary. But Lilly could be cautious too, having escaped one dangerous group’s clutches she was hesitant to place herself into the grasp of another. “Did you do what you did to help me or are you taking me captive?”

All humour drained from Garcia’s features, his jaw squared and his next words came clipped and cold. “If I were taking you captive, why would I give you back your weapon?” His eyes darted to his female companion as she fell back, the tee line now little more than a writhing and heaving mass of grasping fingers and ravenous mouths and the silence filled with the slow drag and thump of withered limbs crashing through the undergrowth. “The way I see it, you got three choices. Two of them end with you dead, either you pop your skull or you get eaten. Or, you come with us.” He paused, raised his gun and squeezed off two shots, covering his fellow survivor as she darted back far enough behind him to line up two headshots of her own. Two more broken bodies hit the floor before Garcia lifted his hardened eyes back to Lilly. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hull of the Fitzgerald, its paint peeling and blistering from age and the Virginian heat, slices through the water with ease. It had been two days since Clementine had led the remaining teens from the Ericson’s boarding school on a rescue mission against the Delta raiders. Two days since her noble intentions had ultimately ended in failure and capture for the rest of them. And two long, agonizingly long, days of travel upriver spent in a crushingly heavy and stifled silence.

Clementine paces the length of the cell like a caged beast. Stalking from the newly welded, barred door on one side to the dingey window and back again. Anxious energy, dark and storming, simmered in her leonine eyes as she glared at the reinforced steel sheet blocking her from reaching the floor bolt. Kicking out in irritation, the toe of her heavy boot slams up against it hard once, twice, three times before her cellmate shifted on the scratchy canvas cot in the corner. Propping herself up on her elbows as she craned her neck and narrowed her dilute green eyes at the brunette.

“Knock it off, wouldya Clem?” Violet’s bladed reprimand slices through the tense atmosphere between the girls like a knife. Sharp and clean and leaving no doubt to whom the blonde’s irritation was reserved for as she turned herself back to laying on her side, her back to Clementine as she continued. “You’ve already tried that shit once and it got you nowhere. So, just stop it.”

Delivering one final kick against the steel, partially to expel the last dregs of her frustration and partially to spite the moody teen, Clementine backed up away from the door with her hands on her hips. “Would have gotten me somewhere.” She seethed, tawny glare settling on the back of Violet’s blonde head, the intensity of her scowl deepening. “If it weren’t for you getting in my way.”

She saw the way her barbed words hit and internally crowed in triumph as the blonde’s willowy frame tensed and flinched. Though her mental gloating only lasted a moment before she found herself staring into storming oceans of swirling greens and greys as Violet launched herself from the cot and forced herself uncomfortably close to Clementine, invading her space as she planted herself nose to nose with the brunette. The number of fucks the blonde had for the younger girls level of comfort at this moment in time being precisely zero.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you!”

Lips curling back, Clementine returned Violet’s fury tenfold. “I’m sorry, Vi. Did I stutter?” She took a deep breath before spitting the bitter words out like venom. “I could have gotten us all out. But you got in my way.”

She expected the blonde to rage at her. To throw words laced with spite and fists curled in outrage. Her bruised jaw throbbed under the strain of her clenched teeth, a reminder of Violet’s strength and explosive temper. She expected a repeat performance as she slapped the label of blame firmly upon the older girl. But she didn’t expect to see the way that hurt and betrayal bled through the mosaics of colour or softened the hardened edges as a watery sheen glistened back at her. 

“So what if I did?” Violet sneered quietly. Her chin lowered and her blonde bangs slid forward, curtaining around her face, a futile attempt at hiding the slight trembling of her lips. She clutched her hand to her chest, the one she had crashed into Clementine’s jaw during their fight. Her thumb pad brushing idly over the split and bruised skin of her tender knuckles. “Did you ever stop to think how many of us might have died in the process?”

“None!”

“How can you be sure?”

The lack of heat in Violet’s words was disturbing for Clementine to hear. Throughout the short time that she had gotten to know the blonde over, she had never heard the blonde sound so despondent. So limp and passive. Gone was the wild spirited and fiercely passionate girl that had fought for her and defended her when no one else would. Gone was the sweet and shy teenager who had blushed and stuttered and stumbled over her words when she had learned that Clementine had developed an attraction to her. And in her place stood a scared and hollow shell, not Violet but a husk housing a wraith. And, for the first time, Clementine could sense the broken trust Violet had for her. It smacked of that same vulnerability and guardedness that the blonde had wrapped herself up in when she had been shoved between herself and Marlon that fateful night. Forced to either trust someone who had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable or trust in someone she barely knew.

“How can you be sure that your plan would have worked?” She repeated, eyes down and voice cracking. “You’re not invincible, Clem. And neither are we. Lilly has fully trained, fully armed soldiers. We have kids, ranging from what, six or seven years old to eighteen. They have guns, we have knives and bows. They have military training, all we have is spunk and spite and a fuck you attitude with only _two weeks_ of practice.”

“I have years of survival experience.”

Hunched shoulders shrugged and still Violet kept her eyes aimed low, focusing on the zipper of Clementine’s jacket rather than meeting her eye. “Yeah, _y_ _ou_ do. The rest of us don’t. But that’s not the point, Clem.”

For a moment Clementine remains silent, then her hands rise to scrub up over her cheeks. Her palms grind against her eyes as her fingers crawl into her curls, the roaming digits tugging at the thick ribbons and coils, knocking her cap askew before dragging her hands down over her lips and chin and moving to fold her arms loosely over her chest. “So what is the point? What would you have us do, Vi? Hide away, like Marlon had you do?” The next words -words that she never thought she’d even think, let alone ever say aloud- flew from her mouth without hesitation. And she knew instantly from the look in Violet’s eyes that they’d hit their mark. “Or would you have us give up, just like you did.”

Violet shook her head and lowered her eyes. “I never gave up-”

The brunette snorts, the sound full of scorn and disgust. “Sure looks that way to me.”

“I didn’t!” Violet snarled. The anger in her eyes flared, igniting the green hues with a silver flame, giving her fury an ethereal beauty and savagery as she added spitefully. “Well, not on myself at least. I gave up on others giving a shit about me a long, _long_ time ago, Clementine.”

That last sentence hurled at Clementine packed a powerful punch. Carefully spoken and decisive, the blonde’s words had an air of finality to them and no matter how hard Clementine might rail against them, it was clear that nothing she could say would change Violet’s mind. Swallowing thickly, the brunette felt her shoulders sag, guilt and regret making her feel so incredibly small. “Even me?”

Violet paused, her shoulders tensing minutely as she leaned back against the cell wall, settling herself upon the cot and drawing her knees to her chest. Doing her best to ignore the chilled bite of steel seeping through her layers of vests and shirts to reach her flesh as she slid her shuttered gaze over to Clementine. “I’d be lying if I said that it’d never crossed my mind.”

A heavy silence settled over the two girls, thicker than even the uneasy tension that had dominated the atmosphere these last two days. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and each tried to avoid catching others glances as they passed by. It hurt Clementine to hear Violet admit that she had lost faith in her, no matter how brief a period of time or how fleeting the thought had been, the fact remained that the blonde had believed herself to be abandoned and it had been Clementine who had made her feel that disposable and helpless.

Beyond the cell door, heavy boots trudge slowly along the narrow corridor and a familiar dark face with flat, dead eyes appeared between the bars. Dorian. The hard-faced woman only paused long enough to check the integrity of the cell door with the heel of her boot and scowl wordless threats toward the captives housed within, ignoring those thrown back at her in defiance, before striding on to repeat her actions at the next occupied cell. 

Clementine huffed an irritated breath when the woman moved on without a word, entirely dismissing the contempt and frustration roiling in the teenager’s smoke amber orbs. Turning smartly on her heel, the brunette resumes her furious prowling, mumbling dark words and vague threats under her breath with each completed circuit of the narrow space. But when her sights fall upon her blonde cellmate, she stops short, boots stumbling as her heel clipped the floor wrong.

Violet sits in silence atop of the stiff canvas cot, her arms wrapped around her shins and her eyes pressed into the backs of her knees. She’s so still, so rigid and silent, like a terrified child curling up as small as it could, hiding itself away from its parent’s wrath. Hesitantly, Clementine eased herself onto the cot beside the blonde, dipping her chin and trying to catch a glimpse of the older girls eyes, uncertain of what she expected to read in their depths. But Violet’s eyes were still partially hidden from her and what she could see held nothing for Clementine to read, although she did note the way that the blonde’s spine stiffens when she touched the tensed shoulders.

“What the hell happened to you, Vi? What did they do to you to make you so scared of them? Every time Lilly, or anyone passes by, you look so frightened.”

For an agonizingly long moment, neither girl spoke, and after another, longer moment of silence, Clementine wasn’t even sure if Violet would even bother to offer her an answer at all. Not until the softest little call of her name, in the smallest little, voice snatches her attention.

“Clem,” Violet sounds so distant, so tiny and lost as she called her name. The anger she had once felt now long since left her, making her sound so vulnerable, as well as so very tired. It made the brunette’s blood run cold as she watches Violet’s slender fingers claw into her thin sleeves, her knuckles bleaching white as her bitten back nails threaten to shred through the thread worn fabric covering her arms and rip into her own skin. “Did you know that there are walkers in the river? Like, walking under the water.”

For a moment Clementine remained silent. Simply watching Violet carefully from the corner of her eye rather than directly and trying her best to appear as though she wasn’t staring in horror -despite knowing that was exactly what she was doing- as the cryptic suggestion behind the blonde girl’s words wormed their way into her thoughts. Behind her ribs, her heart hammers wildly and the bitter tang of bile rises into her mouth. In the half-light, Violet looks every part like the scared child that she sounds. Clementine’s mind raced as she attempted to decipher the meaning behind the blonde’s words, as it searched frantically for words of her own to offer her in comfort and all she can think to say is. “Yeah, I know.”

“Creepy, right? It’s like, nowhere is safe anymore.” For the first time in days, Violet offers the younger girl a small, limp smile. The curve of her lips was there but the life behind it was painfully absent. And it was so very fleeting. As quickly as the edges of her mouth quirked it was gone and Violet was hiding once more, her face pressed back into her folded arms. “Nowhere.”

Clementine’s heart twists and sinks all the way down to her belly, wrapped up in a tangle of nerves and guilt. Slowly, cautiously, she reached out an arm and gingerly wrapped it around Violet’s shoulders, pulling her in close as her fingers gently rub along her arm. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered warmly at the feeling of Violet’s body pressed against her own, relief stirring as the blonde sank into the warmth of Clementine’s side rather than leaning away. And then a tiny appreciative sound escaped her lips, a murmured thanks for the simple gesture.

She had no idea how long they sat like that for. Quietly wrapped around each other until a chill rolls up through the bars of the door and then, just as the first bite of the cold wind nips at Violet’s ears and nose -its raw touch creeping under her shirts and into her blood- and Clementine’s hand moved down around her middle, tucking her against herself closer still. The brunette’s touch was warm and her grip was soft and, within seconds, Violet allows her body to uncurl from around her own limbs and mould itself fully to Clementine’s side. In her embrace, everything that had happened feels just a little more bearable and the blonde feels so much less lonely.

They both knew it was coming. Violet had seen it in the shy look that Clementine had offered her before she coaxed her face closer, gentle fingers cupping the angled line of her jaw and soft thumb pad sweeping against her high cheekbone. Hesitantly, the older girl peered up through shuttered lids and fluttering lashes. The swirls of emotion she saw, threading through golds and browns and hazels made her gasp and her heart skip a beat. Love and desire mingled with sorrow and regret, and all of it Clementine offered up to her without reluctance. But still, Violet turned her head before the younger girl’s lips could find her own.

“Don’t.” She demanded quietly, her voice cracking under a swell of emotion, though it was more frustration than it was sorrow this time. “Don’t kiss me unless you mean it.”

The fingers that cup her jaw tighten fractionally, guiding Violet to meet Clementine’s eye again, pulling her out of her head and back into the room as they then move to thread through flaxen strands. Her eyes are so different in moments like these, more soft and warming like the embers of a hearth rather than sharp and alert like those of a hunting leopardess. The emotions behind starfire eyes telling her that Clementine needs this, that she wants more of a connection with her, or that Violet does. Though, in reality, it's more for the both of them rather than for one or the other. And, if it were anyone else holding her sight so fervently, Violet would have dropped her gaze within moments but, with Clementine, she finds herself drawn in closer, wanting more than anything to let the brunette see past her defences. And then, finally, she murmurs the words Violet needed to hear her say so desperately. 

“I _do_ mean it, Vi. Why wouldn’t I?” Her eyes dart to the faint bruising to the base of Violet’s throat and shame floods her cheeks. “You’re the reason I stayed at the school, why I came back to bring you home. We’re a team and I _need_ you.”

With a sobbing breath bubbling in her throat, Violet buried her face into the crux of Clementine’s shoulder, praying to god or whatever other deities that were prone to listening in on a mortal’s desperate plea, that the brunette had missed the glossy sheen burning at the corners of her eyes. “Please, don’t leave me alone again.” 

Sighing softly and bumping the apple of her cheek against Violet’s crown, Clementine clenched her arms around the blonde even more tightly as a rough shout cuts through the silence and bounces down the empty corridors, alerting all to the fact that the ship had finally docked.

“Never,” She rolled her head, her chin now resting on top of Violet’s head. “I promise.”


	2. River of antiquities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Lilly's past is revealed and the captured survivors of Ericson's arrive at the Delta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have said this at the start of the fic. This story's first few chapters deals with events from both the past and present, so the first half of each chapter is setting up the history of the events that lead to the current ones and the second half deals with what is happening now.

Delta Dawn. 

Delta, _noun_ :

A piece of land shaped like a triangle that is formed when a river splits into smaller rivers before it flows into an ocean.

Chapter.2: River of antiquities. 

The pain that throbs in Lilly’s ankle is deep and warm and wholly unpleasant. The heat radiating out does little to soothe her chilled flesh and stinging nerves, instead, it feels like someone has their hand around the tender bones and weakened muscles and is squeezing either too gently or as hard as they could. As it wanes she feels as though she can move again, albeit slowly and with an obvious limp but then, when it returns all she could do was hold still and breathe through her teeth. Breathing slow and deep, her eyes scrunching up tight until it passes and she can continue her miserable shuffling behind Garcia and his companion.

“Not much further.” Garcia, the finest example of a curmudgeonous man since her late father, grunts over his shoulder. “Haul your ass or we’ll leave your ass.”

He doesn’t bother to look back, but the woman at his side does. Her eyes scan the shadows behind Lilly for any walkers that might have encroached on the injured woman lagging behind, encouraged by the sight of slow-moving prey. They’re still there, lurking in the shadows and following them through the dense foliage. Only a small pack had broken off to feed upon the man that Garcia had killed while the rest of the herd snarled and crooned in their frightening chorus and shambled onwards in hopes of a warm meal.

Turning back, the woman increases her pace to a brisk jog. Threading the strap of her rifle over her head as she darts out of sight, but only for a minute or two. When she returns she is bowed over, a second corpse -the other man who had pursued Lilly- is braced across her shoulders, his toes dragging in the dirt as she struggles to carry her burden. 

Garcia’s tongue clicks against his teeth as his companion stumbles closer, but his voice carries with it a lilt of amusement, the first indication that perhaps the man was less a blackberry bush and more human than he first let on. “What are you doing?”

“Feeding the wildlife.” The woman’s dark skin is damp with the sweat of her efforts, glistening like polished stone even in the darkness. “And if you were a gentleman, you’d offer to do this-” She shrugs the slipping dead man higher on over her shoulders. “-yourself, instead of bitching out an injured woman for being too slow.”

“Just don’t get your ass bit. The last thing I need is more of my brother’s whining in my ear.” And, just like that, he thorny disposition that Garcia wraps himself up in has returned, a knee-jerk response to his companion’s lecture. He turns himself away, grumbling under his breath as she hauls the dead man further behind them, past Lilly and stopping less than ten feet in front of the snarling herd to deposit the offering on the ground.

Unshouldering her rifle once more, the woman then strides up to Lilly’s side, her long legs devouring the distance before matching her step to Lilly’s limp. Her eyes are all warm browns with hazel swirls, set against the sharp contours of her face and there’s a tiny lift to her mouth as she speaks. “He’s not all bad.”

Wincing and setting her jaw against the fresh pulse of pain singing along her nerves, Lilly sucks her whimper back down in into her throat before managing to grind out a single word. “Who?”

“Him.” The woman nods toward her companion’s broad back. “Garcia. Well, David. He might come across as a dick but he’s not quite as cold and thorny as he seems. He’s just… been through a lot.”

Lilly’s eyes flick over toward the man, noting that he has slowed his pace a little before she turns her attention back to the woman beside her. “Yeah, well, way of the world nowadays. You either deal with a lot of shit or give a lot of shit to others.”

“Mmm.” The woman hums in soft agreement before twisting her head over her shoulder, checking the number of walkers that still follow despite the second easy meal placed at their feet. Less than half had taken notice of the corpse and gone in to feed, thankfully though, those that had were the ones leading the pack. Their jutting limbs and gnarled bodies blocking the rest that are still more interested in live prey, diverting them back into the trees where more sounds eddied to distract the roamers. “So, which are you?”

“What?”

The woman raises a slender brow, her earthy eyes catching in the dappled light with hints of softer tones as her lips twist up at the corner in a crease of sombre amusement. “That’s a very sobering outlook you have. So, I’m curious about which side of the fence you fall. Dealt with shit, or dealt shit out?”

A flicker of movement tilts Lilly’s own lips upwards. Cocking one side of her mouth higher but also wrinkling her nose, turning the expression from what might have been a smile to a grimace instead. “Both.” Again she flicks her eye to the woman beside her, this time though she’s watching for any movement or gesture -a tensing of her shoulders or her hands shifting on her rifle- that might indicate the woman’s inclination toward her own revelation. “I’ve taken my fair share, but I’m no angel. Dealt out a good deal too. More than I should have, depending on who you ask.”

But the woman makes no such gesture. She simply keeps pace, her eyes forward. “Killed people?”

Lilly’s lashes slip over her eyes for a moment, lost again in the memories that would haunt her forever. The voices that had fought and raged, the teen that had quivered as he snivelled and pleaded. A gunshot that had bellowed silence into the darkness as a body had crumpled and fallen. And the child. She had been so small and frightened in the beginning, had once screamed and sobbed in despair every time another person was lost, now only fixed her with a sorrowfully clouded expression. Her honey gold eyes glazed and so very far away.

“Yes.” Lilly breathes. “Too many.” There would never be an escape for her, away from those memories. They weren’t something that could be seen or fixed or even pushed aside and forgotten. The life that she had taken in one senseless moment and the innocence that she had broken in the next etched permanently into her brain and scarred into her heart. The pain and guilt that she carried with her - _still_ carries with her- for her actions was to be her punishment for however long she had left on this earth. “One, a girl in my group, I killed her in cold blood. She had done nothing to me and I shot her without a second thought.”

For a moment, the woman at Lilly’s side is silent, but the brunette is aware, so painfully aware, of the eyes burning into the side of her face, just as her bullet had Carley’s that pivotal night. And for the second time in a handful of minutes, Lilly feels herself tensing up as she nervously awaits the woman’s judgement.

And, when it comes, her voice is quiet and thoughtful. Pensive, as though she herself is lost amid a whirlwind of bladed memories. Knives that cut deep into an already broken heart. “Well, at least you’re honest.” This time it’s Lilly’s turn to stare. The woman’s eyes have darkened and dulled, their softness and warmth lost in the secrets of her own hidden past. “The worst thing you can be nowadays is a coward.”

There is something peculiar in the silence that follows what the woman had said so softly that it catches in Lilly’s brain. A pain behind it that is so profound that the lack of any sound fairly screams and pounds against Lilly’s shuttered heart. For a moment she waits, giving her companion time to gather her thoughts and her sensibilities before she feels that she has been patient long enough for it not to be deemed impolite for her to pry. “You’ve suffered losses too, haven’t you?”

“My husband.” By the tone she uses, Lilly is certain that there is more behind her sorrow. So, again, she waits. Neither pushing or pulling the words from the other woman’s lips. Her patience is rewarded, with a voice even more tiny and soft as the rest of the sentence is delivered. “And two children.”

The woman beside her had been a mother once. A mother who had grieved -was _still_ grieving- her family, loved ones. And while Lilly can understand the loss of a loved one, she can’t quite understand the grief that a mother would feel to lose those bound by and born of her love with another. She can’t offer that, but perhaps she can offer kindness, return the thoughtfulness of a stranger with nothing else but quiet companionship as she reflects.

“I’ve killed a girl too.” 

The quiet admission startles Lilly into a wide-eyed stare. Any and all thoughts are silenced while she simply watches and waits for the woman to continue her tale.

“She killed my husband, but when I fired, she wasn’t a threat. She was just a scared kid. Must have been barely twenty, and I...” The woman sighs softly, her head shaking slowly and, for the first time, Lilly notices the woman’s ruined ear. The top half is completely absent while the bottom half is scarred. The rise of her cheekbone bears the divoted furrow of a bullet track that narrowly misses her eye only to continues on and divide her eyebrow. “I just… fired. I didn’t even care that my shot tore her guts up. I was just so angry. So pregnant. And I left her there, bleeding out slowly. Hoping that she was still alive when he turned and ate her.”

Again the woman pauses in her story, and this time, the silence between them is filled with the sound of the river. The swirls and eddies bubbling in soft voices that chatter around the clusters of rocks and tangles of roots from the overhanging trees. Lilly wets her lips and parts them, preparing to ask how much further until they reach the boat but the woman speaks once again. Intent on finishing her memories as briskly as she can, her eyes on David as he wades deeper into the water -past his thighs and almost to his hips- and begins to haul the small boat closer to shore.

“My child was stillborn. Never even lived a single day in this horrific world. And the other child… She wasn’t mine. A man trusted her to my care before he died. I tried my best, but after Omid…” Her head shakes slowly before her chin lifts, tilting her face to the evening skies as though she were searching for something meaningful amid the stars. “He died, trying to protect her. After that, I couldn’t look at her anymore. I blamed her for his death. I blamed a nine-year-old child...”

When she turns her face back down, Lilly can see a wetness in her eyes, brimming her lids as tiny, shimmering beads cling to her lower lashes. “We were headed to a place up north. Wellington. I’d heard that it was safer up there. But we were ambushed, attacked and separated. She must have only been eleven or twelve by then and I… I never got to tell her that I-”

Whatever the woman was planning on saying next was lost. Swept away on the gale of slapping water and David’s colourful cursing as he manoeuvres the small fibreglass vessel around and pushes it as close to the riverbank as he can without mooring it.

“Let’s look alive, ladies.” His rough voice calls as his dark eyes narrow. They peer out beyond the two women and catch sight of the rustling ferns and swaying saplings. “Looks like a few of the determined fuckers managed to catch up.”

True enough, the shadows cast of beech and thicket heave and writhe and belch out the undead monsters that continue to advance on them. A mass of tangled limbs and rows of rotten broken teeth that shamble ever closer. Their gnarled and torn fingers hooking into talons as their rumbling moans heighten into excited howls. Despite David’s urgency, the walkers behind the women are not close enough, nor numerous enough, to pose too much of a threat. However, it would only serve as senseless bravado and pointless risk if the two didn’t quicken their steps, especially as the boat -and safety- bobs away merrily only a few feet away.

Without hesitation, boots splash through the frigid water, the icy touches renewing the burn of agony in Lilly’s ankle as she attempts to haul herself over the boat’s side as nimbly as the other woman had accomplished herself. 

Attempts and fails.

Her jarring landing sends a strength zapping wave of pain racing through her ankle, along her shin and buckled her knee. And, before Lilly even has time to gather herself for a second attempt, she feels a broad shoulder wedging itself beneath her ass and an arm, lined with thick muscle, wrapping itself around her thighs as David all but throws her into the boat. With both the women now safely onboard, the man braces his shoulders and throws all of his weight into pushing the vessel into deeper waters, only dragging himself over the low side when the water was so deep that it laps at his chest and kisses his chin.

Ignoring Lilly’s pointed scowl and flaring cheeks from her undignified boarding, David steps over the sprawled brunette without a word and takes up his place at the rear of the vessel. He continues to ignore her as he drops the small, outboard motor into the water and starts it. Setting his hand firmly on the tiller, he steers them out into the heart of the river before he even deigns Lilly worthy of his smug glances and cocky words. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t need your help.” The words fall from Lilly’s lips, biting and scathing. Her eyes narrow into a scowl as David cocks a brow at her, amused by her defiance and fire even as his companion helps to lift the wounded brunette to her feet.

“Yeah, sure.”

With the other woman’s shoulder wedging into her armpit and her hand curling around her waist, Lilly allows herself to hobble backwards. Seating herself on the bench moments before her injured foot it deftly stripped of her boot and sock. The woman lightly presses against Lilly’s ankle, her index finger and thumb barely squeezing against the knobbled protrusions of bone before Lilly is compelled to suck in a sharp breath as the pain spirals across her body. Dark eyes swing up and catch Lilly’s own, the warm oaken brown orbs narrowing with concern. “Hurts?”

The waves of pain that take over a portion of Lilly’s brain, like the tide does the dunes, are almost crippling. And it feels as if dealing with that is taxing of her energy enough without her bothering with the effort of new thoughts crowding into her head or words her tongue. So, she doesn’t try to voice her discomfort, instead, she simply grunts low in her throat and nods as she blinks away the colourful spots that sashay and burn at the edges of her eyes and sinks her teeth into her lip from the pain of it all. There are gentle swells of nausea too, eating away at her empty belly. Not in great rolling waves that would have her retching threads of bile into the river but irritating pulses, just strong enough to make her take notice, to clutch the bench beneath her and breathe slow.

Finishing up her brief examination, the woman redresses Lilly’s foot with her sodden sock, replacing her boot is impossible with the swelling. “I think it’s a fracture, that’s all.” Again, she glances up to Lilly and offers her a small smile. “You got off lightly, considering how far you ran on it.”

Lilly simply nods in silence. The gravity and stress of the last few hours finally catching up with her now that she is still and, as her singing adrenaline wanes, fear begins to make itself known to her. The little boat cuts through the dark water with moderate speed and a purr, and the shoreline has become little more than a figment of her imagination as though the darkness of the night has swallowed it up. She is alone and injured and sitting between two strangers, with the waves moving freely beneath them and their travel gathering pace. Where she had felt hope before, doubt now thrives.

Swallowing hard against her tongue, Lilly glances first to the woman and then to the man before she speaks. The false bravado that she injects into her words thinly masks the nervousness that stains her voice. “So, is this what you people do?” Skepticism arches her brow and her roiling anxieties tighten her words. “Trawl the rivers and rescue others.”

“Something like that.” David snorts and Lilly tenses at the cold amusement in his voice. “Lucky for you, we were in the right place at the right time-”

Scowling at her companion the woman cuts across him sharply. “We’re from a settlement upriver.” Her face relaxes into a softer, almost earnest, expression as she turns away from David to meet Lilly’s eye. “It’s a safe place, well protected but, as you can imagine, we have our share of enemies. People are desperate nowadays, they attack and steal and-” she sighs softly. “-kill, so numbers are important. Me and David, we act as scouts and recruiters for our people. We can offer you a safe home _if_ you can offer us your loyalty.”

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Lilly’s mind races. Her eyes darting between the two as all of the reasons not to do this come flooding into her head, her negative thoughts twist and turn inside her skull swirling into a vortex of conflicting emotions. The desire to feel safe warring with the fear of the unknown. The open and honest discussion she and the other woman shared now writhing with the whispering concerns that perhaps her motives had been less than friendly and more conniving.

However, before she can plummet too far into her disillusions and spiralling doubts, the dark-skinned woman clears her throat, snapping Lilly’s focus back to herself. A small smile plays on her lips as she notes the reluctance clouding over Lilly’s eyes before the nervous brunette could even think to hide it.

“I think a full introduction is in order. As I mentioned earlier, this is David.” She gestures first to David. Directing Lilly’s gaze over to the surly man who offers a thin smile and a bob of his head in wordless greeting before he returns his focus to steering the small boat. Then the woman redirects Lilly’s focus as she gestured to herself. “And my name is Christa. And I would like to formally invite you to join us at the Delta.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Alright, you little shits!”

The man’s grating voice snaps through the air and his boot against the wall sends the array of teens scrambling away from the barred cell doors in a cacophony of voices that range from whimpers of fear to cries of outrage. His mouth curls into a crooked sneer as he swaggers along the corridor, rifle in hand, his face pushing up against the bars of each door, peering through the spaces between and smirking at the captives within.

“On ya feet! Face away from the doors and put yer hands behind your backs! Don’t fight. Don’t struggle and ya don’t get hurt.” 

There’s the suggestion of movement from inside of each of the caged rooms. Worn out boots and beat-up sneakers scuffling indistinctly over the ground as the occupants either fearfully or reluctantly follow the roughly barked orders.

“Up and at ‘em, girlies.” 

Clementine, her chin still nestled against Violet’s crown, rolls her head around until she is angled toward the cell door, her golden eyes flash and narrow in silent warning at the weathered face of the raider staring at them through the bars. Instinctively her lips curl up and away from her teeth, baring them in a feral snarl when she catches the perverse little gleam in his staring, sallow eyes and the cold twist to his mouth.

For a moment he simply stands there, still smirking, only turning on his heel and moving on when he had taken his fill of the quietly intimate scene. Leaving the blonde tense and the brunette’s skin crawling as he strolls away. “Ain’t got all day, now.”

For a moment, both Violet and Clementine remain frozen in place. Blindly listening in a tangled mess of horror and nervous anticipation as one by one, each cell door creaks open and heavy boots clump inside, sending the kids caged within scattering like frightened rabbits. It takes a familiar, furious shout from AJ to send Clementine scrambling to her feet and pushing her face up against the bars, trying to see the chaos unfolding involving her boy.

“Clem?” Violet’s voice is soft and small, but Clementine is grateful for the opportunity to focus on the comforting rasp rather than the distressing sounds as another one of her friends is bound at the wrists, roughly shoved into the hands of a waiting Delta soldier and marched out of sight. “You asked me what I would have us do, right?”

Stepping back on her heel, her fingers slowly slipping from the cold steel that they had curled around, Clementine sighs quietly. “I did.”

There’s a low creak from the cot as Violet moves, pushing herself up onto her feet. “We shouldn’t fight them-”

The brunette’s shoulders snap taut as her head whips around to needle the blonde with a sharp scowl. The anger and tension that tightens her muscles and curls her finger into clenched fists roll from her small body in thick, palpable waves as she bears down on the other girl. “So you _would_ have us give up!” She drags a hand down over her face in frustration, even as a single bitter laugh barks low in her throat. “Goddamnit Vi, you’re acting like a fucking coward.”

“Are you going to let me finish talking before you shut me down?” The blonde’s words carried with them a surprising bite. And, when Clementine uncovers her face, peeking through the timid little shell of a girl that had sunk into her arms only a half-hour earlier is Violet, _her_ Violet, the Violet who is all fire and fury and ‘fuck you’s’. “Or are you going to actually _listen_ to me?”

Another door is flung open and the process of binding the teens inside is repeated. Reminding Clementine that they are fast running out of time. 

Sighing out her frustration, her breath skims over her teeth in a huff, Clementine folds her arms over her chest as she moves closer to the other girl. Her shoulder lightly bumping against Violet’s as she cocks her head and offers the blonde a small smile. “Alright Vi, I’m listening.”

Pale green eyes flicker over their touching shoulders, darting quickly between the door and the brunette, the nervous energy that simmers within tightens the clouding discs as they fixate on Clementine’s own. “We let them take us. Train us. And then, when the time is right, we fight our way ou-”

The slam of their own cell door opening comes as a punctuation of finality to Violet’s words. Her jaw snaps shut as both girls whip their heads around, wide eyes trained on the wall in front of them as they frantically try to feign innocence and silently hope that their hushed words hadn’t been overheard. Rough hands seize Violet first, forcing her wrists to twist inwards while her elbows jut out, stealing a gasp from her lips as the plastic ties are pulled so tight that the rough loops cut into her skin.

Furious on Violet’s behalf, Clementine begins to twist around, her lips parting and a snarl of outrage dancing on her tongue, eager to fly but the resounding click of a gun’s safety catch being flicked off halts her movements. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Clementine.” Lilly’s voice comes soft, so soft, and it’s that softness that chills her blood more than the woman that it belongs to herself. Sliding her vision as far to the side of her head without turning as she could, Clementine sets her jaw as Lilly remains just out of focus, skirting along the edges of her peripherals. “Not if you want your dear, sweet Violet to keep her pretty little blonde head on her shoulders.”

As if on cue, the older teen’s head dips forward, the sinister maw of a gun creeping into Clementine’s view as it nudges the back of the other girl’s skull in a cold warning. Internally, Clementine is raging. Her anger snarls and howls and claws behind her ribs and inside her mind, a furious beast tethered and chained and rebelling against logic but outwardly, all the brunette can do is watch and wait with bated breath. And then she feels rough hands seize her own wrists and the muscles in her shoulders tighten, bracing herself against the painfully jerking motions and setting her teeth as the faceless raider twists and pinches the younger teens flesh into their own bindings. It’s only then, with the two girls fully restrained, that Lilly finally slides into view, a smile slicking onto her face like oil.

“Now then,” Lilly’s eyes lift to peer over the top of the two teens at the other Delta soldier, her head bobbing in a single motion as her hand fists into the hooded layers of Violet’s shirts and yanks her around. She’s still smirking that oil slick grin at Clementine, even when the brunette herself it hauled backwards from the cell and shoved a few unsteady steps ahead of her own escort. “seeing as you girls are ready, I’d like to give you the grand tour of your new home.”

Beneath their feet, the ship rolls over the gentle waves with ease, smoothing them out into little more than a suggestion of motion. However, it’s only once the small group emerges from the galley below and steps onto the deck can they see the land beneath the sharply angled gangway, swaying with a little more enthusiasm with every swell and ebb of the tide, that the nerves and anxieties of the captive former Ericson survivors are made known.

“You can’t be serious!” Louis shrugs his arm free of his assigned Delta escort and peers nervously over the edge of the ship, his skepticism clearly etched into the downturn of his mouth. “You expect us, with our hands tied behind our backs, to balance on and walk down a damned two-by-four? I’m a pianist, not a circus performer!”

“Boy,” The big man behind the lanky teen rumbles, his fist twists into the shoulder of Louis’s fawn-coloured coat as he forces the teen forward a step. “I don’t give a rat’s goddamned ass if you’re the damn Pope! You will start walking your ass down that gangway before I kick your ass up and down the damned thing!”

“Alright! Okay!” Louis twists in the man’s grasp, narrowing his eyes at the beefy hand wrapped around his jacket. “I’ll get moving, just as soon as you let go of me.”

The progress down is slow and sad, and the gangway bows and sways a little more violently beneath them as the captive teens shuffle nervously along the narrow path. Most stand sideways and slide their steps over the smooth wood, too uncertain to even lift their feet while those who don’t shuffle still shorten and soften their movements.

When Clementine’s feet touch the ground, it takes a second or two for her brain to catch up with what she’s seeing, even though it is all there, right before her eyes. The shock slowly registers on her face as the new information gradually begins to sink in. Around her is a hive of activity. There are people everywhere, not soldiers, but actual ordinary survivors doing ordinary survivalist things. She can see laundry flapping, hung from lines that are strung between rows of buildings with crops growing in neat rows behind them. And there are strange, reflective panels affixed to the flat roof of each and every building. She can smell the strange sweet and sour tang of fresh animal manure wafting into her face, riding the breeze that rolls up over the river. She can even hear the livestock squealing and clucking and, most surprisingly of all, the riotous laughter of _children_ twirling playfully around her ears.

Lilly hadn’t been lying. Well, not about all of it and not so far at least.

For a moment Lilly is content to let the kids stare, their eyes snapping wide and most of their mouths hanging wider. But only for a moment. When Michael catches his commander’s eye and cocks his head in silent question, the tall woman simply nods her confirmation before he clamps his hand on Louis’s shoulder and steers the youth toward what appeared to be a communal building, a mess hall if the two women leaving it were of any indication. In their hands, they carry a large steel serving dish and a stack of a dozen or so bowls between them. The women barely pay Lilly’s group or the bound teens any mind, they simply continue on their way and continue their conversation that Clementine can only catch brief snatches of as they pass. Something about lessons and the children needing new reading material…

“You’re back?” Another voice snatches Clementine’s attention back to her immediate surroundings and her head snaps around to pinpoint the owner. A stockily built man with a rust coloured beard and warm forest eyes is seated outside the building, one leg folded up over his knee and a bowl of beans with what looked like honest-to-god _bacon_ in his hands. “You also look to be two men-” His eyes dart over to Dorian, narrowing just a fraction at the woman’s head before he blinks and shovels another spoonful of food into his mouth. “- and half an ear, down.”

“Yeah,” The woman pointedly scowls over at AJ who, in turn, hurls his own seething glower right back at her. “The little shits are tough as balls. They fought back. Took out Abel and Yonatan.”

“Seriously?” The man drags his spoon along the sides of the dish, scraping up every last morsel before he licks it clean and drops the spoon noisily back into his bowl. He then survey’s the group of captives, his entire beard shifting as his mouth creeps into a grin beneath it. “Tots and teens took out two fully armed, fully trained soldiers?”

“I wouldn’t say _fully_ armed.”

Both Clementine and the bearded man swivel their heads around, tawny gold and earthy green finding and fixing on the speakers face.

_Goddamnit, Louis!_

“Abel only had one arm when your guys attacked u- Hey!” The teen stumbles a step, his tidy dreadlocks bouncing as Michael’s broad hand recoils from cuffing the young man upside the head for his lip.

The other man, however, simply howls with laughter. For several minutes, all that could be heard are his wild whoops and guffaws ringing through the air until Lilly’s sharp reprimand slices through the jolly sound with sharp, bladed words. “That’s enough, Jessop! Are they in there?”

Wiping away the tears of mirth, Jessop manages to compose himself, but just barely. “No,” He sighs. The word fracturing under the tail end of his a final laugh, unfazed by the woman’s scolding as the words seem to simply roll off of the man’s broad shoulders with little more than a shrug, like water beading up and rolling over the feathers of a duck. “Dave and his team left for the outpost this morning, relieving Chris and hers from patrol. He’ll be gone a few days, but the boss man is in there. He’s waiting to take your debriefing and to welcome our new friends here.”

The building is warm and the mouth-watering scent of tangy tomatoes and fried meat teases the air and fills each of the captive kids’ noses as soon as the door to the building is held open. Triggering each and every belly into a wheezing chorus of chortles, rumbles and a single groaning, whine from AJ as they are marched past one of three long tables, the boy’s wide eyes wandering hopefully toward the huge steaming pot simmering away over a low flame in the back.

Despite her hunger, Clementine’s heart hammers wildly in her chest as she follows her friends down to the head of the central table where a man is seated surrounded with an array of maps and papers spread across the scratched up surface. There’s a half-empty bowl of beans pushed to one side as his head bows low and he pours himself over one of the maps, pen in hand as he scribbles something onto the paper. As the group treads closer, Clementine can just about make out how its geographical lines are littered with circles and crosses, some city names are even scratched out completely. But the word that catches her eye the firmest is printed on the bottom map, the one barely over-lapped by another, a map of the state of Virginia with the word RICHMOND aggressively circled in red ink.

The sudden roar of panic thrumming in her ears deafens her for a moment, her vision unable to tear itself from the one word that throws itself, along with the hazy memories of a man and his family who fought tooth and nail for each other as well as for her. A man, his brother and his nephew who vowed to rebuild the community after overthrowing a tyrannical woman’s rule. It takes her a moment for the pulsing fear inside the young teen to calm and quieten enough for her to pick up on the hushed discussion already underway, her attention tuning in partway through a sentence in a voice she barely recognizes.

“-abe and Joey with him. David has plans to re-secure the western outpost after that last herd swept through, that’ll help strengthen our borders if Jo-”

The man’s head has lifted during Clementine’s distraction and now the teen can see him clearly. His chin and cheeks are home to a neatly trimmed scruff, and his brown eyes are warm and soft and so achingly familiar. And then Clementine’s brain stutters for a moment as the pieces finally click into place and her eyes widen, taking in far more light than she expected, distorting the man’s familiar features. Every part of her stalls out, caught between not able to process what is happening and processing too fast for her to comprehend. 

“Oh, my god… Ja-”

Her belly suddenly churns, fighting the terribly nauseating need to vomit. Her heart jumping rhythmically in her throat when recognition floods the chocolate brown eyes of the man staring back at her in disbelief. A man she had never thought she’d see again and who clearly never imagined he’d see her alive either.

Slowly, he blinks and swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing tight in his throat as Javier pushes himself to his feet and steps closer to the teen, his fingers tremble as he reaches out to gently touch the girl’s shoulder. “Clem?”

Clementine jerks herself backwards, dancing out of the mans reach, her heel coming down hard on Violet’s instep as she jumps away from his touch. She barely even registers the blonde girl’s startled yelp as she just stands there, trembling with a mix of emotion, fear and outrage and tries desperately to understand what she’s seeing.

“I-I don’t… Javi? Wha-” She shakes her head once, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek as she closes her eyes and shakes her head harder. “You… You’re with the Delta? But… Richmond?”

“I’m not with the Delta, Clem. I _am_ the Delta.” There’s conflict in Javi’s eyes as they find and hold Clementine’s eye line. Warring beneath the warm browns is a battle between sorrow and conviction as he takes in a long, steadying breath. “Richmond has fallen, Clementine. Joan took it back, and now Joan is bringing them to war.” 


	3. River of adversities pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javier shares with Clementine the story of how Richmond fell, and both realize just how close they came to reuniting years sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very slight adjustment to how this chapter and the next are formatted. Both are part of the same chapter, it's just I felt that a 10,000 word chapter may have been a little too much lol. The next chapter will not have a past scene, it simply picks up from where this one ends.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter, feedback and kudos is always appreciated. And a reminder that none of my other fics have been abandoned, I'm just flitting between each story right now.

Delta Dawn. 

Delta, _noun_ :

A piece of land shaped like a triangle that is formed when a river splits into smaller rivers before it flows into an ocean.

Chapter.3: River of adversities pt.1. 

David walks through the heart of Richmond in silence, his shoulders back, eyes frequently checking his surroundings; stepping around the laughing children playing in the streets and dodging his soldiers on patrol. Tucked beneath his arm he carries sheaf’s of papers and thinly covered notebooks, sign out sheets and inventory records covering everything from rations to weapons and all that fell between. His jaw is set tight and his eyes fixed firmly ahead as he continues to move with purpose toward one of the perimeter fences where a team of survivors were busy, seeing to the repair of a breach in their walls after one of the children had happened upon a walker struggling to drag it’s mangled form inside the settlement.

With the immediate threat of the undead dealt with, with minor incident, David’s tactical mind had then turned itself from combat to trying to figure out just _how_ the breach had occurred. It had quickly snowballed from a simple check of their perimeters -of which two other potential compromises had been discovered, fencing panels not secured or actively sabotaged- to hushed rumours that circulated through the civilians before the whispers and stories began to reach him through his security teams. All of which had ultimately led him to where he found himself now, suspicious as hell and double-checking everything he could find, and now hunting down his brother to share his findings. 

“Hold it steady now, Gabe.” Javier’s words reach David’s ears muffled and strained, but the cadence that they dance in is that of good humour. “Atta boy. Now, don’t let it slip.”

The rhythmic blows, marking each and every hammer strike, bounce through the air as David rounds the final corner. Just ahead he spots both his brother and his son hard at work. The former is on his knees as latter stands hunkered down, bracing a length of wood against a weakened join in the fencing with his shoulders as best he could but still David can see how the positioning slips lower between each of the jarring blows.

“You need a hand, mijo?”

Both Gabe and Javier glance back behind them at the man. Delight dances in the son’s eyes just as warm affection softens the brother’s as both take in the sight of the last member of the Garcia family striding toward them.

“Nah, I got this, Dad.” Gabe fairly swells with pride, excited to show his enthusiasm to his father, although his face falters when he feels the wood suddenly twist in his fingers in protest of the newest strike. His grin falls into a frown as he fumbles with the stubborn board, then he sighs before reluctantly retracting his earlier statement. “Actually, yeah. A hand would be great. Thanks.”

Dropping the papers and notebooks beside his brother, David takes up his position on the other side of the wood, bracing it as his son does the same, the teenaged boy’s face is still home to an expression of dejection. “There’s no shame in asking for help, Gabriel.” He speaks softly, his voice low and warm and full of affection as his eyes dart from his son to his brother and then back again. “It takes a big man to admit when his own abilities are not enough. You and your uncle taught me that.”

The smile that tugs itself onto Gabe’s lips breathes a delighted light into the boys face as he fairly preens himself at his father’s compliment while Javier simply chuckles around the nails clenched between his teeth. He plucks one from his smirking lips and lines it up, hammer raised as he side-eyes his older brother. “Don’t you be going soft on us, brother. We still need your hard-ass cracking the whip around here at times.”

“Not going soft, Javi.” David returns his brother’s smirk with one of his own, the little rise to the corner of his mouth crinkles his cheek below his dark eyes. “Just grateful to be given a second chance to do things right by people. It’s not a privilege everyone gets, especially nowadays.”

The little trio continues their work in companionable silence with only the clap of the hammer, driving the final nail home, ringing out loud and clear across the open grounds. Pushing himself up onto his feet and tucking the hammer through his belt, Javier groans as he stretches out his cramping thighs and aching back before his hands settle on his hips and he admires their handiwork. 

“Well, it’s not pretty and I don’t think anyone will be hiring us to build them their dream house any time soon.” He claps both his brother and nephew across their shoulders, his pride expressed by the slightest curve lifting the corner of his mouth and worn in the lightest rise of his eyebrow dancing above joyful eyes. “But at least it’ll keep the dead out a while longer.”

David turns, his hands on his own hips, and swings his boot at the board, his brows tugging low and lips twisting in scrutiny as it rattles against the nails pinning it in place. But it stands firm against the assault and that placates the hardened man. “It holds. That’s all we need it to do.”

When he turns back, David catches how Javi’s attention shifts away from the papers and notebooks that he had deposited on the floor before assisting his family in the perimeter repair job. He also notices the slight frown that puckers between the younger man’s eyebrows and the slight tightening of his lips before his eyes shift over to catch David’s knowing gaze watching him.

Javi pauses and sighs quietly before forcing a note of good cheer into his words “Hey, Gabe.” He cast his gaze over to his nephew, his lips twitching up at the corners when he notes the pride still radiating from the teen’s posture and expression. “Can you run over to the infirmary and give Dr Lingard and Eleanor a hand? Carolynne delivered her twins last night and they could probably use all the hands they can get with cleaning up the equipment and taking care of her.”

Gabriel’s smile seems to grow of its own accord as he nods his affirmation and spins around on his heel and races away. Both David and Javier stand there watching the boy until he rounds the building and vanishes from sight. As soon as they are certain that Gabriel is out of earshot the atmosphere shifts to a more sombre tone.

Javier stoops and gathers the pile into his hands. Shuffling his fingers through the paperwork, his eyes scanning the data neatly scrawled on the sheets and his eyebrows tugging down lower with every new line that he read until the usually casual and easy-going man was scowling at the pile as though it had personally offended him. “Is this everything?”

“Everything recorded, yes,” David grunts bitterly. His hands, still on his hips, tighten their grip. His fingertips dig down deep into his thick military pants and bruise his skin as he begins to pace. “I also found some weakened spots in the fences. Missing nails, damaged boards.”

Javier’s head jerks up, the implications left unsaid scream for his attention, jolting him out of his reading. “Sabotage?”

David doesn’t say anything, but the way that he keeps his scowl aimed firmly at his feet as he moves speaks volumes to the younger Garcia. He can see the anger and frustration emanating from the tension in the man’s rigid shoulders and stiffened swagger. Can feel the anxiety and fear and betrayal that oozes and hums through the air between the men. Javier turns his focus back to the papers still clutched in his trembling fingers. Pouring himself into the pages, scouring the names and the numbers and cross-referencing them with his own counts. He skim reads, searches and digs until his eyes became unfocused and the words blurred themselves into nonsense.

“This just doesn’t make sense.” Javier’s mind races, his perplexity surging as he finds one name repeated on records that he can’t fathom it needing to inhabit. “Why would she-”

“This goes much deeper than we first suspected, Javi.” David cuts his brother’s words off sharply, though the words are spoken with such neutrality and are so unsettlingly flat and dulled that Javier’s blood runs cold and slides down to crush his organs with an icy fist of fear. “It goes beyond the missing rations and damaged fences. The controlled medications; heavy painkillers, codeine, oxy, antibiotics… Morphine. All of the counts are off. Eleanor’s numbers are too high while Paul’s are too low.” He shakes his head as he pushes his hands through his hair in frustration. “And then there’s the armoury.”

Adrenaline floods Javier’s system and soaks into his brain, it pumps deeper into his muscles and pulses through his blood. His eyes snap wide as he stares at his brother, silently pleading for him to be wrong, to not say what he knows is coming next.

“We’re missing weapons. A few knives and machetes. Guns. A couple of boxes of ammunition is gone too. They’ve not been signed out for use, and they’re the wrong makes and models to the ones _I’ve_ cleared for routine cleaning and maintenance.”

Javier’s thoughts are spiralling out of control with every new word that leaves his brother’s lips. Trying desperately to piece together this information into something that his mind can process without his heart screaming its refusal to believe what came as the result. The missing food is forgivable. People get hungry sometimes and their rations weren’t exactly generous. Maybe their methods and portions were a little too conservative. They would need to talk with their farmers and their medical personnel and reassess how they calculate their formula to make sure none go hungry.

However, it’s the missing medication that concerns him. Moreover, it’s the fact that neither one of their medical staff’s tallies matches the master count. Paul was a recovering addict so maybe he’d had a slip-up or two. But then, why would his count read lower instead of higher to hide his theft? And Eleanor, she’d not cover for him like that, no matter how much she respects the man for his medical ability, so why is hers the count that’s reporting higher numbers?

And then, there’s the missing weapons and the name that is scratched onto the list that has no business being there...

There is a strange silence to the air, a stillness that settles over Javier’s skin and chills him to the bone. It sends a path of goose flesh racing along his spine. Adrenaline surges through his system so fast that he almost vomits. He can taste the saliva that thickens like mucus in the back of his throat and the beads of sweat that sprung up to now trickle down his brow, burns against his skin as acid. 

“We need to-” 

Javier’s next words are lost beneath two claps of thunder. Each one isn't simply loud, it cracks the air and echoes around his ears, the tall building’s magnifying the twisted feeling of vulnerability as the man turns his eyes sky-bound. The heavens are softly blue, not storming greys and the clouds are delicate whispers and not thick tangles. There is no literal storm brewing on the horizon, instead, he finds himself standing helplessly encompassed within the eye of a figural tempest.

David’s senses sharpen with the sudden surge of adrenaline rushing through his system. It floods his brain and kicks his combative instincts into gear, dropping him below head hight and diving for his brother’s knees just as a bullet whizzed overhead and slams into the side of a building. Beneath him, Javier holds his breath but David is keenly aware of the way his brother’s heart is hammering behind his ribs as his own ears strain to hear beyond the ringing inside his skull, attempting to track and pinpoint the trajectory of the shot. No-one within Richmond’s walls wastes bullets anymore. There is no more target practice, no warnings fired into the air by the soldiers patrolling the walls. Each crack is a violent announcement of a death, a shot straight to the head. No chances to miss, no chances to turn.

And then came the screams and the shouts. Pistol and shotgun fire punctuates the rising cries of panic and fear. The brothers can hear the roughened barks of the soldiers bringing others to arms just as the first plume of smoke twists and twirls into the skies and the acrid tang burns in their nostrils.

“We need to move, Javi.” David’s voice is calm and steady as he rolls to his feet and yanks the younger man to his feet. He is a man in complete control of his faculties, a soldier, built for combat and trained for battle, and now the battle is here and he instinctively assumes control. “Keep low, stick to cover and move fast. We head for Gabe in the infirmary.”

Javier swallows thickly and nods, even as his belly and bowels clench into fists. He can hear the first stirrings of a crowd moving ahead of them. Dozens of people, most of them unarmed civilians, swarming together to flood the streets. Families shouting and crying, the shrill pleadings of mothers calling for their children and the panicked wailings of said children, confused and frightened and desperately trying to keep up as the crowd grows larger and more dangerous. Turning away from a collective body of safety and into a herd that simply tramples over any and all in their path.

“Alright then, little brother. Move. Now!”

By the time that the Garcia’s reached the main streets of Richmond, the crowd had become a mob. A writhing mass of bodies pushing and shoving at each other, stampeding over those who had fallen underfoot and leaving them lying broken and moaning in the dirt. Trying to force and wade their way through the tide of limbs and panic rushing in the opposite direction would be foolish, subjecting themselves to the same fate as those swallowed up beneath the heaving human wave. Instead, the men pressed themselves to the rear of the buildings, their backs bent and heads tucked down between their shoulders as they ran, keeping a barrier of brick and mortar between themselves and the chaos in the streets.

Their progress was slow, agonizingly so. Where every few minutes or few hundred yards travelled had the two men ducking into doorways or diving behind stripped out vehicles to avoid the detection of an enemy masquerading as a comrade or dodging a stray bullet that slammed into steel or brick of soft, yielding flesh. Each and every inch of cover that they discovered -no matter how flimsy- the men took full advantage of until, finally, David paused outside the heavy door that marked the rear entrance to the small clinic. His dark eyes scan the streets as his fingers curl around the edge of the emergency exit, quietly prying the barrier open just far enough for Javi to squeeze through before the soldier himself casts a final glance around and follows his brother inside.

“Okay.” David’s stern eyes fix on Javier’s, his face set in a fashion that would make any one of his soldiers nervous. But not his brother though, Javi finds comfort in the way that David’s expression is so carefully calm and calculated. He knows that his brother is assessing the unseen threats and hidden enemies and is formulating a tactical plan that would ensure the highest rate of success and survival. “You go on to the wards. Find Gabe and Paul and anyone else here, and lock yourselves in. Barricade the door with everything you can.” His hand reaches to his holster and removes the beretta that he always carries and thrusts it out to his brother, along with the two spare clips and a handful of loose rounds from his pocket. “Take it.”

Javier’s eyes widen as the weapon slips easily into his palm and the spare ammunition disappears into his own pockets. “David. I…”

“Protect them, Javi.” David’s face is a mask of impassiveness; unflinching, unwavering and unfaltering. There’s not a trace on it to betray his own fear that he hides deep down inside himself, behind his military training and iron will. But he knows it’s there, and he knows that Javi knows it’s there too. “When you can, get them out. My men will be evacuating civilians to an old community centre a few miles west of here. That’s where you’ll take them.”

There’s the sound of breaking glass from the other side of the building. Either their people desperately trying to reach safety or the enemy already setting themselves to the task of looting for medical supplies. Either way, the brother’s know they are fast running out of time. 

Javier sets his jaw and nods. His brother has given him his orders and his body responds on automatic now. His hands shift, priming the gun in his hand as he shifts his weight on the balls of his feet. “To the community centre out west.” He repeats softly, back to the wall and head peeking around the corner as he checks the hallway. “Alright. But, what about you?”

“There’s a weapons cache here.” David grins as Javi whips his head back around to stare at his brother in disbelief. “I’m a suspicious son of a bitch, Javi. After the shit that went down with Joan-”

“The missing weapons?”

David shakes his head. “These are on my personal count.” Down the hall he can hear footsteps moving slowly, carefully, each one tactfully placed. Not from here then. “Time to go, brother. I’ll see you at the rendezvous point.”

Missing the usual bustle of the medical staff attending to their patients, the clinic is reduced to a silence and a tension that takes a stranglehold on Javier’s nerves as he moves as quietly as he can along the halls. At each of the doors he pauses, gun held high as he inches his head away from the wall that his back is pressed so firmly against and peeks through the frosted glass. His finger tensed on the trigger and his eyes check for any sort of movement that might ripple across the sunlight that blades through the gloom inside. 

Empty. 

So Javier pushes on to the next. Stealing silently from one room to another, until he catches a breath of movement within. It’s the sort of movement that’s only seen with the peripherals, the kind that floods panic through the body and stirs up the tiny hairs on the back of the neck. It incites the mind to conjure imaginary monsters that lurk and prowl through the darkness, dragging the shadows along with them like tattered rags. Only here, now, the monsters are very real, the dead still walk and caution is more a necessity than a suggestion.

Carefully, Javi taps the muzzle of his gun to the glass. Just loud enough and long enough for it to stir up the quiet scampering of feet and the low hum of hushed voices that he recognizes. “Gabe?”

“Javi?” The teen’s voice drifts through the door in a mix of relief and concern. Relief that quickly rises to panic as Javier slowly turns the doorknob and creaks the door open. “No, Javi! Don’t!”

The rapid transitions of emotion in his nephew’s voice makes Javier’s thoughts stall and the rifle muzzle that touches his brow as the door is suddenly thrown wide makes his head spin. But it’s the woman, standing behind the armed lackey holding his weapon on him, that sends panic surging through his synapses.

It was subtle, the arrogant triumph that dominated her face; just touching the edge of her mouth as it pushes up and scarcely pouts her lips. It’s in the slightest narrowing of her eyes, making the brown colour appear black as her cheek creases, and it’s in the tilting of her head as she watches her companion pluck the beretta from the Javi’s hand before roughly shoving the man to his knees. “Hello, Javier.”

Before he meets the older woman’s smug expression, Javi glances over to the far side of the room. Gabe stares back at him in wide-eyed terror even as Eleanor tends to the wounds on his face and, thankfully, there’s no sign of Dr Lingard or Carolynne and her newborns. With one less worry weighing on his mind, it’s easier for the former baseball star to pull in place the mask of defiance and surety, the sickening fear that twists and coils around his guts never making it to his face. “Hello, Joan.”

Joan’s smirk curves higher into her cheeks, twisting her features from controlled calm into cruel delight. “It’s so nice that you remember me.” Her body language screams of that of a cat with her prey caught between her paws, and the lilting sing-song tone that she speaks with is one of intent to drag the torment out. “I don’t see your brother with you. That’s a shame.”

Javier could feel his eyes narrow at the woman’s taunting. His fingers twitch and itch as he curls them into fists at his sides, eager to be holding the beretta again, to aim it between the woman’s eyes and empty the clip into her skull. “How did you get in here?”

“There are still a great many of those loyal to me among your people, Javi. And they have gifted me so many wonderful things.” Her tone turns from mockery to sardonicism as she pads away from the darkened corner, stepping through the golden sunlight that pools into the room from the wide window and phasing into the shadows once more. “But as for actually infiltrating your little haven, well, you have your good friend Eleanor to thank for that.”

Stunned, Javier glances over to the named woman. She had turned away from Gabriel now to face him and her eyes hold nothing but contempt in their softly dark depths. Javier can feel how his mouth hangs slightly open and loose as she moves away from Gabe and joins Joan’s side, her back to the window and her pretty features silhouetted by shadows. And slowly, reluctantly, Javi’s mind finally fits the pieces into place. Her medical counts were high because _she_ was stealing from them. _Her_ name on the record sheets for the armoury, but never on the weapon sign out, because who would suspect one of their doctor’s of gun smuggling?

“Eleanor? I...” His throat closes around his words and his mouth is suddenly dry, leaving his tongue feeling as though it has shrivelled up into a prune that sits uselessly behind his teeth. “I don’t understand.”

“Marianna. Eli. Francine. Conrad. Kate… Tripp.” Elenor’s voice is low and soft but Javi can feel the anger simmering in her words. “You’re a dangerous man to be around, Javi. Your choices end with getting innocent people killed.”

Javi’s heart plummets to his guts. Sinking faster than a stone tossed into a pond. And every screaming thought inside his head is silenced into denial and grief. “Eleanor, I-”

“It appears that your charms have failed to sway everyone into forgiveness, Javi.” There’s a hint of victory in Joan’s smug tone as she cuts through his words and her eyes dance with the excited light of one who anticipates a great gift. They flick over to her brutish lackey still holding Javier at bay on his knees, her chin tilting up in preparation of signalling the younger of the Garcia brother’s execution. “I’m sure-”

The air is suddenly rent with gunshot and breaking glass. There is a flurry of jerking movements as Joan dives for cover, the guard on Javier whirls around with his rifle to his shoulder to return fire and Gabriel breaks toward his uncle. But all Javier can see is the way that Eleanor’s body jolts forward, the bloodied fragments of bone and brain exploding from her forehead and scattering themselves amid the glittering glass chip gems.

“Javi!”

The next shot rips through the armed man so fast that it appears as though he had simply stepped back like he needed a moment to collect himself before returning to the gunfight. Instead, his knees fold from beneath himself and he drops, his blood pumping over his chest in pulses that declared the struggled beating of his heart.

“Javi!” Gabe’s fists clutch at his uncle’s arm, shaking him desperately back into the moment. “We gotta go, Javi! We need to get out and find dad.”

It takes a moment, as well as the desperation in Gabe’s voice acting as an anchor, for Javier’s mind to shut down its unproductive noise and begin to think its way out of this mess. His eyes scan the room for Joan but the woman has long since fled, abandoning both of her now dead companions without a second thought. And then his eyes fall on the dead soldier and the weapons still on his body, David’s beretta and the rifle. He’s wary, the man is dead but the shot hit his body not his head, it’s only a matter of time before he turns. The blood is still red and pulsing out of him slowly, they still have a few minutes. Javier is quick to snatch the beretta from under the man’s hip, aim and put the killing bullet through his brain before he relieves the corpse of its rifle and searches its pockets for extra rounds.

Finding the spare magazine, Javi tucks it away as he pivots around to face his nephew. “Alright, buddy. There’s probably more of Joan’s people coming through the front, so we’re gonna go out the window. Just hang back and let me go check that the way is clear, okay?”

“O-okay.” The teen swallows down the tremble in his voice and shakes the nervousness from his shoulders. “Alright, just don’t get shot.”

A chuckle itches in his throat as humour touches Javier’s eyes. “Good thing it wasn’t on my to-do list.” Then is face hardens again into an expression of determination as he hunkers down low and creeps to the side of the window, stepping over Eleanor and suppressing a shudder as her wide eyes, flat and empty, stare up at him without seeing. He presses himself up against the wall and switches from the beretta to the rifle before he peeks his head from the shadows and brings the rifle up in one fluid motion, his finger tight over the trigger.

“Whoa! Whoa, Javi! It’s me.” Beneath the window with a rifle of his own braced to his shoulder and a canvas bag at his feet stands David. His eyes dart from side to side as a small group of panicked survivors race by, shepherded by one of David’s men, who pauses to turn and squeeze off two shots before he tears off after his group. “No time, Javi! Let’s go!”

“Everyone’s out?”

David squares his jaw, teeth grinding as he growls out his words. “Everyone who wants out.” His rifle whips to the side, a flash of smoke and brass exploding from the end as another person falls. “So let’s move our asses shall we?”

It takes a few awkward minutes and a few more dead bodies for both Gabriel and Javier to scramble out of the window, avoiding the broken glass still lodged in the frame, their feet hit the ground already in a run with David hot on their heels. As the stocky soldier pulls alongside his family he catches his brother’s eye. “Change of plan, brother. My guys have secured the garages. Too many of us are kids or vulnerable, we can’t all leave on foot so we take the trucks and get the hell outta here.”

The trio wheel around the next corner, feet pounding and lungs aching. Ahead of them, Javier can see the garages with four armed soldiers -their weapons aimed outwards- acting as a blockade as Dr Lingard directs the civilians into six of the trucks. Javi can hear his voice calming the frightened children and panicking parent’s, doing his best to keep family units together as he loads eight people and two soldiers into the back of each. Slung across his back are two duffels, crammed to bursting with what Javi hopes to be medical supplies. 

Slowly the doctor turns on his heel, his weathered face lighting up as the Garcia family slow to a jog and stumble to a stop beside him. “You all made it out.” His eyes shift behind them, face falling, as though he was expecting someone else to be following behind them. “Where’s Eleanor?”

“Dead.” Is all that David supplies as he brushes past the man and tosses his own duffle inside the drivers’ compartment. “Like the rest of us will be if we don’t move!”

“What do we do now, Javi? Where do we go?” Gabe’s eyes are wide and terrified as he turns to his uncle. The dark orbs hold Javier’s own as the man silently inspects the injuries that litter the teen’s face. There’s a deep purple bruise blossoming on his cheek and a small fissure that splits the bridge of his nose where he clearly took a fist and, from the edge of his lips, a tiny trickle of red tracks down slowly to his chin.

Slowly, Javier inhales, his lashes lowering as he sighs. Though the thin layer of flesh blocks from his vision the scores of expectant expressions and hopeful gazes of his nephew, his brother and the dozens of former Richmond survivors that either huddle together inside the old warehouse or peer from the backs of the trucks in fear and confusion. With little more than the clothes on their backs and a single weapon to every third person, Javier is bitterly aware that every single person is waiting for him to come up with a plan and lead them away to safety.

And that thought terrifies him because he doesn’t know. He has no ideas to help them. He has no answers to any of the questions that no one voices but he _knows_ they have. He just… doesn’t know. 

“Javi?”

His eyelids tighten with rejection and his jaw clenches with guilt, unfair emotions stirring under his nephew’s questioning call of his name. He never wanted it, to lead. He never asked for this.

“Well, what’s the plan, little brother?” The softness to his brother’s gruff voice, the gentleness of his tone, it startles Javier into opening his eyes and snapping his chin over to the veteran soldier. “You’ve always been better at thinking on your feet.”

His face, still hard and serious, is uncomfortably open and Javier can see how David’s jaw is clenched tight and moving as he grinds his teeth. But the man _is_ trying. He is making a conscious effort to tether his temper. It’s in the way that the muscles in his shoulders tense, the tiny flinches that ripple all the way up to his jaw, betraying his agitation and it’s in the way that his fingers dig into his hips where they have settled that has the younger Garcia brother on edge and doubting himself. 

Eyes closing and head shaking slowly, Javier inhales a long and deep breath through his nose, trying to desperately cling to the last rapidly unravelling threads of his confidence. “David, I... I don’t-”

Whatever he had planned to say next is lost beneath a gasp, stolen from his lungs on a wave of surprise when he feels a firm hand clap down hard to his shoulder, the strong fingers squeezing comfort into his tense frame and his older brother’s voice reaches his ear quiet and low and full of conviction. “Wherever you say we go, I will follow you, Javi.”

When David’s hand leaves his shoulder, Javier feels a little of his tension leave with it, replacing his uncertainty with a little surge of confidence. “We’ll find a new home, far away from here. Away from Joan.” He glances up, finding and holding David’s attention before he adds. “But first, we go to McCarroll Ranch. We go after Clem and AJ.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Joan?” Clementine’s mind is still surging with the perplexity of this revelation. Emotion and resentment both clamouring to be addressed first. Her emotional thoughts compel her to throw herself into his arms. To bury herself into his chest and cling to his shirts and sob in relief that he is alive and safe, and that they can be a team again. That she can trust him, while her voice of resentment hisses at her, tells her that she is foolish and that this man had his people come for hers. That this man is not the same man who had helped her, protected her, only a handful of years ago, that this man was cunning and that she couldn’t trust him, not anymore. 

She can’t decide which path to choose, her logical thoughts that were screaming out warnings that he was dangerous and a liar and that he would tell her anything if it meant wooing her over to fight at his side. Or her heart that whispered soothing echoes of their friendship, reminding her that this was the first adult that had earned her trust so fully since the very beginning of it all… since Lee. Behind her back, her wrists are still bound, but her fingers clench and furl rhythmically with every conflicting thought that batters her defences, frustrated and confused and so far out of her depth.

“But I-” Clementine pauses, licking her lips and swallowing hard against her tongue sitting thick and clumsy in her mouth. “I thought she was gone. I thought she’d either been killed by the herd that broke through Richmond’s walls, or that she slipped away and left her people to fall like the snake that she is.”

Javi’s eyes are still so open and honest, and they still seem able to strip away Clementine’s walls with such ease that it’s frightening. Her tawny eyes dart away, but he refuses to chase her. Instead, he simply waits for those skittish orbs to flicker back to his, his warm brown irises saturated with understanding. “She still had people inside Richmond who were loyal to her. A few months after you left for the ranch, she infiltrated us and rallied her followers, before attacking us from inside our own walls.”

“So you ran? You didn’t even try to fight back?”

“She attacked families, Clem. Not just families loyal to me, but the children of her _own_ supporters. Planting the idea that I and my loyalists were trying to either cow or wipe out hers. She never showed her face until she was certain of the distrust and unease and that she had fully divided the people.” Again, Javi’s eyes hold onto hers. They are so wide and open, as though he felt he had to try to convince the girl that he was not lying to her, and that thought made Clementine’s insides squirm uncomfortably.

“She sent people to the McCarroll Ranch. She learned that that was where we were heading, I wanted to try and catch up to you, so she had a group of her people tail us.” He bites at the inside of his cheek and drops his eyes away from hers for a moment. Then, as he moves closer, they shift back and the bottom of Clementine’s stomach dropped through the floor with how deep into her they peer. “She attacked them. A small defenceless settlement that was little more than a nursery for displaced kids than an actual community, just to further rile her people up against me and mine when we fled.”

And just like that, Clementine is hurled back to that night that she reached the ranch in search of AJ and her mind fills with the stench of blood and burning. Her ears ring with screams of pain and fear, and the thunderous claps of gunfire and harsh shouts of fighting. Echos of the most terrifying night of her life jar her thoughts as she is suddenly forced back into the turbulent tides of her past. Her gaze subconsciously drops over to AJ, the boy that she had hurled herself into the fires of hell for as she swallows the thickened saliva that filled the back of her throat as it fled from her mouth. 

“Did…” She closes her eyes and shakes away the memories of the big, soft woman sitting crumpled on the floor like a broken marionette. Her bespectacled eyes, wide and fearful and rapidly dulling as they stare vacantly up at her, as bright red blood trickles over her doughy cheek as though she were weeping. “Did the kids all get out or did they di…”

She can’t. She just can’t bring herself to say it. Saying it would make it real, would make almost losing AJ forever real.

“Most got out. Most are here, actually.” Javi admits quietly. “We caught up with the small evacuation party hiding in a supply shed a mile or two out from the ranch. They were waiting for a woman, Helen, to catch up to them with the last of the children, a toddler-” He shook his head slowly. His face creases with sorrow and grief. “-she was already dead when I went back with David and a few others to find her. Shot in the face, and there was no sign of the toddler she was supposed to be bringing.”

His shoulders are slumped, both his lips and eyes downcast in a mournful gaze. “We couldn’t find him, Clem.” He eyes the side of his mud-splattered boot rather than looking at the teenaged girl as he whispers the last words as softly as a breath in a storm. “We couldn’t find AJ.”

Clementine’s gaze slips to the side, watching the young boy scowl defiance at the man speaking without the need to incline her head. Then she sighs, her lashes slipping down over her eyes. “No. But I did.”


End file.
